


You Can't Get it Again

by karaluvsketchup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Appendicitis, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karaluvsketchup/pseuds/karaluvsketchup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>15-year-old Dean is sick, but keeping a brave face. 11-year-old Sam is worried, and mad at his brother for trying to hide that he has appendicitis. John's finishing up a hunt and can't be reached. Mildly angsty teenchester hurt/comfort fun ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Get it Again

“I'm okay, Dad, I can hunt,” fifteen-year-old Dean Winchester whined.

“You're more than a little green, son,” John told his oldest. “If I take you along you'll just put the both of us in unnecessary danger. It's a simple salt and burn anyway, I've done a hundred of them solo.”

Dean scowled. “It's just a stomach bug.”

“No more arguing, Dean. I'm going, you're staying here.”

“Can I go?” eleven-year-old Sam piped up.

“No, you're going to stay here with your brother.” John had let Sam go along on a few cases like this, but there was no way he would let him come without Dean there to help watch his back. Sam pouted, but John was pretty much immune to his younger son's puppy dog eyes, especially when it was a question of safety.

A few minutes later, John took off in the Impala to kill the ghost two towns away, leaving the two boys alone in the hotel room. While he would never admit it, Dean was glad that his father had made him stay behind- his stomach was cramping pretty badly and he was starting to feel feverish. He stripped off his boots and sprawled on one of the room's beds.

“I'm gonna go pick up dinner from that diner across the street, what do you want?” Sam asked his brother. It was almost eight and the eleven-year-old's stomach was starting to growl.

“I'm not hungry.” Dean answered. This told Sam that Dean was really sick- being Dean Winchester, and in general a teenaged boy, Dean usually wasn't happy this time of day until he had a double bacon cheeseburger in his stomach.

“I'll get you a soup or something.” Sam told him.

“Whatever.”

Sam tucked a handgun into the waistband of his pants just in case, put on his jacket, and set off for the restaurant. Twenty minutes later he came back with a turkey sandwich and french fries for himself and chicken soup, saltine crackers, and sprite for his brother. Dean had been mother henning Sam through every cold, flu, and stomachache since he was little, so Sam had picked up a few tricks along the way.

Dean ate several spoonfuls of soup, not because he wanted to by any means, but he didn't want to worry his little brother. Pretty soon, his stomach started telling him that it would rebel if he ate much more, so he put the soup aside and nibbled on a few crackers.

“You're really feeling like crap, aren't you?” Sam noted. 

“I'm fine, Sammy, don't worry about me.”

“I'm not worrying, I'm just noticing,” Sam assured him.

Dean went to bed pretty soon after that, figuring that whatever nasty thing he had would be better in the morning and there was no reason for him to stay awake being miserable. Sam, on the other hand, stayed up until well after midnight, sitting on the other bed, reading by flashlight- he'd picked up _The Fellowship of the Ring_ at a used bookstore a few days previously, and he had no one goading him to go to bed for once. He noticed his brother was sleeping restlessly, tossing and turning a bit, which was unusual for Dean who normally slept like a log, but didn't think too much of it. Finally, when he started having trouble keeping his eyes open, Sam put his book down, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.

A few hours later, Dean woke up and had to rush to the bathroom as the small amount of soup and crackers he had eaten made a reappearance. Once his stomach had gotten rid of everything it could, he flushed the toilet, got up off his knees, and leaned against the kitchen counter as he filled a cup with water to rinse his mouth out with. When he opened the bathroom door, he could see that Sam's eyes were open and looking at him- he must have woken up from the sound of Dean retching. “Sorry, Sammy.”

“Are you apologizing for throwing up?” Sam said, sleepily, but with some humor in his high-pitched voice.

“No, I'm apologizing for waking you up, dumbass.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about me, kiddo. Go back to sleep.”

Dean took a few sips of Sprite to try to settle his stomach, then got back into bed, wincing and putting a hand over his belly as the movement made it hurt worse.

***

The next morning, Sam was awake before Dean, which wasn't really unusual in and of itself, though usually Sam didn't stay up until one AM either. When Sam got out of bed, the red letters on the hotel clock told him it was a little after 10:00. He got dressed, grabbed a protein bar to eat for breakfast, and turned the TV on with the volume down so as not to disturb his brother. He watched and episode and a half of  _Full House_ in the otherwise quiet hotel room, glancing over at his brother every so often to see if he was still sleeping.

When Dean did wake up, his belly hurt even worse than it had in the middle of the night, and he was about ten seconds from throwing up. The bathroom seemed way too far away at that point, so he called out, “Sammy! Trash can!”

Sam turned around, startled, then within a couple of seconds figured out what was going on, and had the room's garbage can to Dean in time. Dean didn't actually have anything left to throw up except a bit of bile, but Sam put a hand on his brother's back as he dry heaved over the can, the way Dean always did for Sam when he was sick. “Thanks,” Dean said weakly, settling back onto the bed once he was done gagging. Sam left the trash can there just in case and went into the bathroom to get Dean a glass of water to get the taste out of his mouth. In the few seconds that Sam wasn't looking, Dean experimentally prodded at his belly. The pain wasn't just worse, it had changed, from all-over cramping to an ache above his right hip. He winced as he pressed where the worst of the pain was- that definitely made it worse.

The thought made him wince again as it suddenly occurred to him what was probably going on. Lower right abdominal pain pretty much meant appendicitis. At the same time, however, he decided that he wasn't going to let Sam know. His dad would be back later that day, then he could go get checked out. He could wait a few hours, and in the meantime there was no reason to make his brother worry.

Sam came back with a glass of water and a damp washcloth. Dean propped himself up on an elbow, took a mouthful of water, swilled it around, and spat it into the trash can. He took a couple of small sips, but his stomach didn't seem to want to handle even water at the moment, so he put the cup down and took the washcloth that Sam was holding and used it to wipe down his forehead and the back of his neck before wiping around his mouth. He handed the washcloth back and thanked his little brother.

“Dad should have called by now...” Sam said, obviously worried about Dean's health.

“It's fine Sammy, you know how things get on hunts.”

“I think you need a doctor.”

“Hey, whenever Dad gets here, I'll get him to take me to urgent care or something, if it makes _you_ feel better,” Dean said, being pretty successful, he thought, with the false confidence despite feeling like crap. “But for now I'm fine, I just need some more sleep.” He found a semi-comfortable position, and dozed off again.

A little after noon, John finally called. Dean would have liked to answer it himself, but this hotel had the phone on a desk across the room from where he was lying, and it didn't seem worth it to walk that far, so he let Sam answer.

“Dad?” Sam said into the receiver, “Dean's still sick, when are you going to be back?” A pause. “You can't just head back now? Yes, sir, I understand. Yeah. Just hurry, I think he's really sick, he can't keep anything down. Yeah. Okay. Okay, Dad, see you later.” He hung up the phone. Dean looked at him questioningly. “He has a few things to wrap up, he said he'll be back here at six or seven.”

Dean nodded. “That's fine Sam, really, I'm  _fine_ .”

Sam gave him a you-are-so-not-fine look, but let it pass and went back to watching TV.

The next few hours were uneventful. Sam watched TV for a while, then read for a while, asking Dean if he needed anything periodically. He walked across the road to the diner again to get himself lunch, bringing Dean some Ginger Ale hoping he's drink it. Dean was pretty sure it would just make him throw up again, so he didn't. As long as he stayed still, he wasn't in too much pain, and the nausea never really went away, but that too was manageable.

After a while, Dean sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He paused until his head stopped spinning, and then pressed his hands down on his knees to stand up. He took a few steps and had to stop until a sense of vertigo passed, then walked the rest of the way into the bathroom. It wasn't easy, but he had to pee.

He managed to do his business without a problem, then set off on the seemingly endless journey back to bed. Sam looked up from his book, concerned, as Dean came out of the bathroom. “Stop looking at me like that,” Dean told him. He took a couple of steps and the room started spinning. He stopped to wait for it to stop again, but his knees buckled.

“Dean!” A second later, Dean felt Sam's small hands guiding him to the floor. He tried to reassure his little brother, but the spinning wouldn't stop and a second later everything was darkness.

***

“... brother... River View Hotel...since yesterday...” As Dean made his way back into consciousness he caught pieces of what Sam was saying, but it didn't really make sense. Was Sam talking to him? Dean started taking inventory of his surroundings. Had he gotten hit in the head on a hunt? No, that didn't seem right, he was dizzy and a little headachy, but not like he had a concussion. Also, he was lying on a carpeted floor, with a pillow under his head. Sam must have put it there after he... oh right. He'd fainted. Great.

Dean opened his eyes. Sure enough, he was lying on the floor of the hotel. Sam was kneeling next to him, with the hotel phone in his hand. Calling an ambulance. “Dammit, Sammy, you didn't need to...” He began, but stopped. It wouldn't do him any good to tell Sam that now. Anyway, he'd probably scared the poor kid half to death, and if he was being honest with himself, he'd probably do the same thing if their positions were switched.

“Oh, hey, he's waking up,” Sam told the the 911 controller. “Dean, are you back with me?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. How long was I out?”

“Just a minute or so. Dean, I was scared...” he turned his attention back to the phone for a second. “They're on their way? No, you don't need to stay on the line with me, we're okay. Thank you.” He hung up the phone.

Dean was feeling more dizzy and nauseous than he had before the trip to the bathroom, but his stomach felt about the same, which he took to be a good sign. “It's okay, Sam, I just got a little dizzy.”

“Collapsing on the floor isn't _getting a little dizzy_ , Dean.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. I was just hoping we wouldn't have to deal with doctors before dad got back.”

“He'll be here in a few hours.”

“And the paramedics will be here in a few minutes. Just remember, Sammy, our last name's Wilson this week. That's what you told 911, right?” Sam was a smart kid, and he was used to the fake identities, but Dean was hoping he hadn't panicked and given his real last name.

“Yeah, Dean, I know the drill.”

“You should write a note for Dad so he knows where to find us...” Dean told Sam. “I'd do it, but I'm afraid if I try to get off the floor it'll be a repeat performance of that fall.”

“I got it, Dean, don't worry.” Sam picked up a pad of paper and a pen and started writing.

“Hey, who said I'm worrying, I'm not worried.”

Ten minutes later, Sam let two paramedics in, and they went straight to Dean's side. Sam stayed back, perching on the edge of one the beds, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Hey, I'm Gary and this is my partner William, we're paramedics, can you tell me your name?”

“Dean Wilson,” Dean answered.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Gary pressed, as William clipped a small plastic device on to Dean's index finger to measure his oxygen level and pulse rate, then started taking his blood pressure.

Dean sighed. “I've been sick since yesterday... well I was a little off for a few days before that, but I got really sick last night. I just passed out, it's probably dehydration or something, I haven't been able to... keep anything down.”

“Sounds like you've earned yourself a trip to the ER. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.” He was actually still several months until his sixteenth birthday, but they were lying about his identity anyway, and hopefully the extra year would keep the social workers away a bit longer while they waited for John to show up. He would have gone ahead and said eighteen but he didn't quite look that old yet. Of course, being a minor meant the inevitable next question.

“Is your mom or dad here?”

“Our Dad'll be back this evening,” Sam answered for him.

“Is there any way we can reach him?” the paramedic asked.

Dean shook his head, “He'll be on the road.”

Gary looked concerned about that, but didn't press any further. William, who had finished taking Dean's vitals, took an oxygen canister and nasal cannula out of his bag. “I'm going to give you a some oxygen, Dean, it should make you feel a bit better.” The paramedics agreed agreed with Dean's assessment that he was dehydrated, and a minute later, Dean was telling Sam to look away and Sam was rolling his eyes at Dean, as Gary put an IV into Dean's arm.

“I'm going to palpate your belly now, Dean, see if we can figure out a little more about what's going on,” William told him. Dean nodded to indicate that he'd heard him and that it was okay, but wanted to say no. He knew where it hurt, and was pretty sure what it meant. Once the paramedics figured it out, they'd probably end up saying it out loud and Sam would know too.

When he pressed over where Dean's appendix was, Dean let out a little gasp of pain. “A lot of tenderness there, yeah?” William asked, and Dean nodded again. “Do you know what that generally means?” Dean nodded again. He looked up at Sam, who, as he had predicted, looked pissed.

“Dean, why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't want you to worry, kiddo.”

Sam just glared at Dean as the paramedics finished checking him over, asking him about any allergies or past illnesses. Gary went out and got the gurney out of the ambulance, and pretty soon Dean was on the gurney in the back of the ambulance and Sam was buckled into one of the seats on the bench beside him.

When they got to the hospital, the paramedics handed Dean's care over to the ER staff. “This is Dean Wilson, sixteen, he's had a syncopal episode after a history of nausea and vomiting and abdominal pain since yesterday. He's also got some pain and tenderness over McBurney's point,” William told the doctor who was going to be looking after Dean.

“Hi Dean, I'm Dr. Jefferson,” The ER doctor said.

“Hey,” Dean said, half-smiling at the doctor.

"Is your mom or dad here somewhere?”

Dean sighed. “My Dad'll be here in a few hours. He brought my brother and I along on a trip for work, but he left us here for a bit while he went to take care of some stuff, because I wasn't feeling too hot.” Dr. Jefferson frowned. “We thought it was just a stomach bug, it's not like he knew I was going to end up at the hospital.”

“I'm not saying I think your Dad did anything wrong.” Dean had to stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief. At least something was going right. “I just wish we didn't have to wait for him to get here. I assume you know what appendicitis is, Dean?”

“Yeah, I had kind of figured that was what was going on.” Sam, who had settled into a chair beside Dean's ER bed, threw his brother one heck of a junior bitchface.

“I'm going to want to run a few tests to confirm it, but it's looking like you are in for an appendectomy today.”

“Lucky me,” Dean deadpanned.

Dr. Jefferson smiled. “Since you're a minor, we're going to have to wait for your Dad to get here before we can take you into surgery.”

“What if it's too long and his appendix ruptures?” Sam wanted to know.

The doctor seemed a little surprised that his patient's 11-year-old brother was asking about that, but he explained, “If we really need to, we can get around the consent issue, but we have some time, I'm sure he'll be here before it comes to that. In the meantime, is there another adult we can call for you? A family friend maybe?”

Sam looked like he was about to make a few suggestions, but Dean didn't think that was necessary. “No, we're not exactly from around here. It's okay, I've got Sammy here to keep me company.”

“All right, do either of you have any more questions I can answer for you at this point?” Both of the boys shook their heads. “Well you just hang tight, I'll have someone come draw some blood, and a nurse will be in in a few to get you started with a pain medication an an antibiotic. If you need anything, just ask.”

“Sounds good, Doc.” Dean said as the doctor left. Once he was gone, Sam turned the bitchface back up.

“You should have told me you thought it was appendicitis, Dean. Dad could have been back by now if I'd known when I talked to him on the phone.”

“It's not a big deal, Sammy. I'm fine.”

“You're in the hospital, you're not fine.”

“I'm mostly just embarrassed by that victorian lady impression I did earlier. And I'm sorry that I scared you, but I'm going to be fine.”

The next few hours were, for the most part, spent waiting, with frequent interruptions. A phlebotomist came in and took several vials of blood, then a nurse injected some morphine into Dean's IV and hooked up a smaller bag filled with a cloudy solution next to the large bag of saline solution on the IV pole next to his bed. Dr. Jefferson came in again to give Dean a more thorough check over, and told him that from his symptoms and the results of the blood work he was 95% sure that what Dean had was in fact appendicitis. A while later, Dr. Jefferson introduced them to Dr. Forbes, the surgeon who would be doing Dean's surgery. She gently prodded at Dean's belly for a minute, looked at his chart, and told them she agreed with the diagnosis and that they'd go ahead with an appendectomy whenever John got there.

By the time it got to be about seven, Sam was getting antsy, and the nurses were starting to ask, “what time did you say your dad would be here?” every time they came into the room. Dean just kept telling them, “I'm sure he'll be here soon.”

***

At 7:30, John finally pulled the Impala into the parking spot in front of the hotel room where they were staying. He was a little sore from getting thrown around by a ghost, but he'd finally gotten the case all wrapped up and he was feeling pretty good about it. He swung the door open, expecting to see a sick Dean and a worried Sammy.

The room was empty. John swore under his breath as he looked around the room and saw the note Sam had left. “ _Dad- Dean got Sicker, we're going to the hospital. Sam.”_

John had seen a hospital on the way into town so he knew where to go. He ran back to the Impala right away and rove straight there, hoping no cops would see him as he blew through a couple of intersections. He parked the car and jogged into the ER, heading straight to the desk where the ER clerk sat. “I think my son Dean is here? I'm John Wilson.”

The clerk, whose name tag said Mandy, had just come on shift, so she had to look through the charts to find what room Dean was in. Before she actually found it, however, Sam came running out and hugged his dad tight in a way he generally hadn't for the last few years at least. “He has appendicitis, Dad, we've been waiting around for ages.”

“I'll let your son's doctor know you're here,” Mandy the ER clerk told John. He thanked her, and followed Sam into Dean's room. Dean was asleep so Sam said, “Dean, he's here!” to wake him up. Dean opened his eyes. “Hey Dad.”

“Hey Tiger, how you feeling?” John asked, squeezing his teenaged son's shoulder reassuringly.

“I'm okay, Dad. Doctors will be glad you're here.”

“I'm sorry I left you waiting son, if I'd known I would have come straight here.”

“Really, it's okay. Did you get the ghost?”

“Yeah, she's not going to botherin' anyone again.”

There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Forbes walked in again. “You must be Dean's father,” she said.

John nodded and shook her hand, “Hi, I'm John Wilson.”

“I'm Doctor Jennifer Forbes, I'm a general surgeon here. Have your sons told you what's going on?”

John nodded. “Yeah, it's his appendix, right?”

“Yes. Dean came to us after he had a little fainting spell, and he's showing the classic signs and symptoms of appendicitis. We've given him IV fluids, antibiotics, and pain meds, and now I'd like to get him up to surgery to take that appendix out as soon as we have an OR ready.”

“What do I need to do?” John asked.  
“I'll go get the authorization forms and talk you both through the details before you sign off.”

“Okay,” John told her. “Look, I'm really sorry that I wasn't here sooner, he was sick when I left, but I didn't think it was anything serious.”

“Well you're here now.” Dr. Forbes smiled in an I-don't-think-you're-a-bad-person kind of way. “You've got a couple of brave kids.”

“You have no idea.” John said proudly.

Things happened pretty quickly after that. An hour later, John and Sam were in a waiting are and Dean was in an operating room. John was half expecting someone to come give him a stern talking to about leaving his kids, but it seemed that Dean had done well at charming everyone and convincing them that he wasn't a poor, abandoned kid. If anyone was going to yell at John, I would probably be Sam- after the initial burst of relief at seeing his father, he'd gotten a bit cold. The two of them sat in silence, side by side in uncomfortable plastic chairs.

***

Dean opened his eyes. He was in an unfamiliar room, lying flat on a bed. He could feel a plastic mask over his mouth and nose. Right, he was in a hospital. He'd just had surgery. With that thought he became aware of the pain in his belly. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse than earlier, but it was definitely different. He was also shivering. Not necessarily cold even, but shivering all over. He felt someone squeeze his hand. Sam maybe? He looked down and saw that it wasn't Sam, just a nurse. “Welcome back kiddo, your surgery's over, everything went fine.” The nurse was pretty, no more than ten years older than Den himself, with long, dark brown hair in a high ponytail. If he wasn't all disoriented from having just woken up from general anesthesia ten seconds ago, he'd so be flirting with her right now. He tried to read her name tag, but his eyes were a little fuzzy and it was hard to concentrate. Something with a C, maybe.

He felt a stinging sensation in his arm where the IV went in. “Just giving you some morphine, it'll make you feel better,” another nurse told him. After that, he kind of drifted in and out for a while. Someone took the oxygen mask off his face a few minutes later, and he was asked if he was nauseous at all.

“No, not really,” he replied. That was a nice change from the last day or so, he thought.

The surgical waiting area was between the Pediatrics ward and the operating rooms. Sam jumped up when he saw his brother being wheeled down the hall, and John followed close behind. The people pushing the gurney Dean was on stopped so Dean could see his family. “Hey Dean,” Sam said as John gently ruffled his older son's hair.

“Hey Sammy, Hey Dad” Dean forced a smile.

“Dr. Forbes said your appendectomy went really well.” Sam told his brother.

“Yeah, you just see, I'll be as good as new in no time. No better than new, Sammy. That's the thing with appendicitis. You can't get it again.” Dean closed his eyes. All that talking was hard work.

“You two can come with us, we're just about to get him settled into a room in the Peds unit,” the pretty young recovery room nurse told Sam and John. They followed the gurney down the hallway, John holding Sam against his side in a one-armed hug, his hand on Sam's far shoulder. Sam seemed to have relaxed, stopped feeling like he had to be angry. Dean was going to be fine. All was well.


End file.
